‘What if someone walks in?’
‘That’s a distinct possibility. Care to find out?’
Beneath my fingertips, I feel her wavering, her decision solidifying as she breaks our contact, resting her back against the tiled wall opposite. For the first time I pay a little attention to our surroundings. White tile. Harsh lighting. And I wouldn’t exactly describe the place as clean.
‘That sounds like a dare,’ she murmurs. Actually, no. She taunts. ‘The answer is no, by the way. I don’t want to find out.’
‘Then why are we here?’
Another roar from the bar patrons, a clink of glasses, footsteps and other muted sounds. She licks her lips as though preparing.
‘Because I opened the door, and you pushed me in, then started mauling me.’ I look pointedly down at my creased shirt, then run my hand down it. ‘And then you told me you wanted to fuck me.
‘And I do. But you’re right; not here.’ I grab her hand, and with the other, pull open the door.
After the bar tab is settled, we make our way out to the car. As the muggy air hits me, followed by a gust of something fetid, I realise what led me to follow her to the bathroom and why I feel like I’m listing suddenly.
‘Fuck.’ I throw my head back against the headrest as the car interior begins to spin. ‘Beer. I should never drink beer.’
‘Baby.’ Olivia scoffs. But she doesn’t understand. She wouldn’t. Her knowledge of me is only surface deep.
‘Hey, Benny.’
‘No, no bennies. Not—’ Fuck. I crack open an eyelid to find Olivia staring at me, the wash of orange streetlighting lending her a demonically confused air. ‘What? What are you looking at?’
‘Bennies, as in amphetamines?’ Her incredulity is sobering. ‘Did you think I was offering? Beckett, the driver’s name is Benny. I was having a conversation with him about the best place to get something to eat. Turns out, I should’ve ordered those wings. I could really go for a hotdog.’ So beer makes my head swim and gives Olivia the munchies.Fuck. I’m usually more aware of my limits than this.
‘No Bennies, no Charlie, and no hot dogs. All that shit is bad for you.’ The driver hits a pothole in the road, causing our bodies to collide. I wrap my arm around her and tell myself it’s because of the bump in the road, then sigh as I realise she’s looking at me like I’ve grown another head. I’m not getting into this. Not now. Not ever, if I can help it. ‘We’ll get to the hotel, and the butler will order you something. To eat,’ I qualify. Because once upon a time, I might’ve sent him out for another kind of takeaway.
‘Beckett, it’s gone two. The butler won’t be waiting around for us like a mom.’
I snort. My mother wasn’t the kind to wait up. But that’s by the by. I might have issues but not of the Oedipus kind.
‘Room service,’ I grate out. ‘It’s available all night. As is the butler.’ As it should be for the price I’m paying.
‘Excuse my husband.’ Turning to the driver, she places the kind of heavy emphasis on the title that suggests she finds the term distasteful. ‘He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.’ Hand on my chest, she pushes herself upright.
‘That’s true,’ I agree gruffly.
‘And a stick up his ass.’
This is just her way—at least, it’s her way with me, I remind myself. She’s sweet on the surface, but with me, she’s everything else. Haughty. And naughty.
‘What are you smiling about?’
‘You like me.’
Or she likes my cock.
‘You think?’ And she likes goading me. ‘No, seriously. What are you smiling about?’
‘I’m thinking about what I’m going to eat when we get back to the hotel.’
You can be right, or you can be happy.Her grandmother’s words echo in my head. I can be happy that I’m right about her wanting me. How about that, Elsie?
‘And you are delusional,’ she hisses, digging into me with her elbow. ‘And you can’t hold your liquor.’
‘My tolerance is shot.’ Because that’s what addiction will do to you, and I’m not just talking about alcohol. ‘But I’m still going to make a meal out of you.’
